


The Nutritional Benefits of Rotini

by bwyn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Asexual Keith (Voltron), Demisexual Lance (Voltron), Gen, POV Alternating, Pansexual Allura (Voltron), Pansexual Character, Queerplatonic Relationships, qpr kallurance fam that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-02 00:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10933200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwyn/pseuds/bwyn
Summary: Five times someone thought they were dating.And the one time they realized that, maybe, they kind of were?





	The Nutritional Benefits of Rotini

Their university has always been a playground as well as a place of knowledge. Learning and recreation have always gone hand in hand, the edges blurring between them under leaves the colour of fire and a sky a mirror of the ocean shallows. It’s a place where oddities are normalities, accepted and embraced and flaunted—but even still, there is bound to be confusion, for what is a community without raised eyebrows, vague questions and cryptic answers?

 

An epiphany of sorts greets Rolo on a warm autumn day as he crosses campus with two classmates towards their advanced physics lecture. Together, they form a tall trio, intimidating in stature but welcoming in posture—or at least, Hunk and Lance are. Despite his attempts to come across as pleasant, Rolo can tell his first impressions are usually tarnished ones. Hunk is calm and friendly, but his expressions are extreme at the best of times; meanwhile, Lance has a bounce in his step and extravagant gestures that hit beats from songs that nobody but Lance can hear. Together, they’re a comedic duo that tickles even Rolo’s sense of humour, and draw out giggles from anyone passing by. 

 

One such passerby Rolo knows, a familiar—albeit striking—face among his friend group, and she raises a hand to smack the one Lance has hanging in the air while telling a story. Rolo expects Lance to squawk—a common response—and say something that he can never tell is actually funny, or embarrassing. Instead, Lance’s hand slices through the air, and on the downswing his palm meets the woman’s backside with a sharp smacking sound. 

 

Rolo is mortified first, and baffled second. He fully expects to witness a murder right there in the hall as the woman jumps and snaps a curse. 

 

Then Allura is whipping around with a sharp smile and a cocked brow, and she says, “Don’t expect to get any booty tonight, Lance.”

 

And she pivots on her foot like a dancer and  _ leaves _ , and Rolo is gaping, he knows he is, and he turns to look at Hunk and exchange a stunned look—but Hunk is grinning, too, and Lance’s fake pout is vanishing around his laugh, and Rolo is confused. Just… confused. 

 

So his brain starts making connections and he looks at Lance and asks, “How long have you been dating Allura for?”

 

Lance wears the same stunned perplexed look that Rolo was expecting from Hunk. “Dating?” repeats Lance. “We’re not dating! She means booty, as in butt pillow for movie night cuddles. Obviously.”

 

In Rolo’s opinion, “obviously” is an unnecessary addition, because  _ no _ , it isn't obvious. Instead of arguing it, Rolo simply lets it go. Or tries to. It’s hard, when his brain is now trying to find a reason why  _ movie night cuddles _ is also a phrase that wouldn’t imply dating. 

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think I like it,” says Allura, wrinkling her nose at the plate of noodles she ordered from the food court. 

 

Pidge raises an eyebrow, shovelling her own meal into her mouth without preamble. There are words trying to be said, but Shay grimaces at the crumbs flying forth in lieu of a voice. A soggy something or other hits the center of the table. Allura stares down at it in disgust.

 

“I think what Pidge is trying to ask,” interrupts Shay, “is  _ why _ do you keep eating it if you don’t like it?”

 

Allura plucks her used napkin and lays it over the morsel. “Well, like, it’s  _ weird _ but… I can’t stop eating it,” she says while ravelling her plastic fork in more noodles. 

 

“Just...stop,” says Shay, reaching over with the intention of dragging the tray away, but Allura pulls it towards herself.

 

“I want to finish it,” she says.

 

Pidge snorts, and luckily no food is ejected from her nose. 

 

“But you don’t like it,” says Shay slowly.

 

“I’m not totally sure.”

 

“...Allura.”

 

The other woman throws her hands up in the air, nearly launching noodles across the food court. “I don’t know, okay! It’s not good, but it’s addictive. Like ketchup chips. Or nightcore.”

 

Pidge barks a laugh. “You’re the only person I know who ends up an hour deep in a nightcore playlist before realizing, and then  _ leaves it on.” _

 

“Not good, addictive,” repeats Allura.

 

“Just stop eating it,” sighs Shay.

 

As Pidge’s hand drifts sneakily towards Allura’s tray, Shay spots a familiar face across the room and its loose crowd. She lifts a hand to wave and smile as the dark-haired man turns to make his way towards them, weaving between tables to pause beside theirs.

 

“Hi Keith,” greets Shay. “Did you take the quiz this morning?”

 

Pidge’s finger successfully hooks over the lip of the tray and is sliding it away when Allura slams her hand down on top of the other woman’s knuckles. Keith doesn’t even blink, resting his hand on Allura’s shoulder and leaning slightly towards her as he addresses Shay.

 

“Nah, I thought I’d do it in the afternoon with Lance after chem.” He looks down at the tussle going on between Allura and Pidge. “So. Uh. What’s going on?”

 

Nose scrunched up and eyes squinting, Pidge releases the tray, and Allura whoops her victory. Then she looks down at her meal and sighs.

 

“I’m not sure whether I like it,” says Allura, tilting her head back to look at Keith. “Do you want to try?”

 

“Sure?”

 

Giving one last glare at Pidge, Allura stabs her fork back into the noodles and rolls up a mound. Shay watches as Keith leans in towards her, accepting the forkful and straightening as he considers the taste. The hand hasn’t left Allura’s shoulder, and Shay is starting to wonder. 

 

It’s not unusual for Allura to initiate contact with her friends—Shay herself has been on the receiving end of many hugs—but it takes a moment for her to place the oddity in the situation. It’s not Allura with her hand on Keith’s shoulder, but the other way around—and the way Keith’s fingers curl just slightly, increasing the warm pressure, Shay feels a very odd bubbling feeling in her belly. It’s similar to when she sees Nyma and Rolo meet each other in the middle of a lecture hall, hands reaching and fingers twining. It’s warm, and domestic.

 

_ Domestic? _

 

Shay catches herself staring, boring metaphorical holes into the contrast of Keith’s pale fingers against Allura’s navy blue sweater. Quickly, she looks down at her own food, giving it the attention it deserves because obviously it’s more interesting than trying to dissect the why’s and when’s of Allura and Keith? Dating? Wait.

 

“It’s alright,” says Keith with a noncommittal shrug. “Nothing to write home about.”

 

Allura screws up her nose. “That’s it?”

 

“What were you expecting?”

 

“Something more substantial,” mumbles Allura, frowning at her tray again.

 

Keith snorts and drawls, “If you want an essay on the hints of flavour and husky undertones, we can call Lance over here.”

 

“See, where’s the in-between with you two?”

 

“That would be you.”

 

“Oh, damn, you’re right.” Allura sniffs. “Well, whatever, I’ll finish it.”

 

“Such commitment,” says Pidge around a bite of noodles she just sniped from Allura’s dish.

 

“I  _ paid _ for it—hey!”

 

Keith retracts his hand from Allura’s shoulder, fingers sliding over the cable knit. “That’s my cue. See you guys.”

 

“Bye!” chirps Pidge, engaged in utensil swordplay with Allura.

 

“Bye, Keith,” says Shay, watching him leave before whipping around to stare at Allura. “I did not realize you were dating!”

 

Allura freezes and Pidge swipes another noodle, which slides from her fork and flops onto the table sadly. “Dating? Who am I dating?”

 

“You’re dating?” asks Pidge absentmindedly, going for another noodle.

 

“Am I?” Allura’s brow is pinched in honest confusion.

 

Shay wonders how she’s the same woman who benchpresses double what half the guys on the basketball team can, who is the leading scorer as wing spiker on the varsity volleyball team, and has a four point oh and still finds time to tutor Shay in the minutia of organic chemistry. 

 

“Are… you not dating Keith?” asks Shay uncertainly. Was it possible she misread the situation?

 

“No!” says Allura, startled, then she and Pidge both start laughing. “God, no! First of all, he’s not into that. Second of all, I’m still gunning for the captain of the soccer team—have you  _ seen _ those  _ legs— _ ”

 

“Okay, okay, I was just checking!” says Shay, backpedaling quickly. She does  _ not _ need to hear anymore euphemisms about soccer. 

 

“I just had the horrible mental image of Keith touching a boob,” wheezes Pidge. “Can you— _ imagine? _ ” She adopts a deep voice in mockery of Keith’s. “How does this thing work? Is there an on switch?”

 

Allura’s laughter devolves into tears and sputtering. Even Shay can’t resist a giggle.

 

* * *

 

In her last class of the day, Nyma has mixed feelings.

 

Pros: the prof likes to show videos and she’s a visual learner; he posts all the outlines online so she has something to follow; Rolo is there.

 

Cons: it’s an hour and a half at a time when she’s not hungry beforehand, but definitely hungry during; the prof talks  _ fast _ about things she isn’t wholly invested in; Lance almost always sits behind her and whispers  _ nonstop _ to Keith. 

 

Another pro: Rolo suffers the distraction with her. 

 

She and Rolo are sitting dead center in the amphitheater that evening in an attempt to ward off the incessant chatter. Occasionally, Nyma will look back to see if the two boys have seated themselves in the back few rows that are their usual spots. Unfortunately, the seats are filling up fast and there’s still no sign of them. Meanwhile, there’s almost an entire row in front and behind Nyma and Rolo, empty and tempting. 

 

She hears the doors in the back of the hall open and winces even before she hears Lance’s voice. Slowly, she turns to peek over her shoulder. There’s only one seat open in the back row, and Lance has his fingers intertwined with Keith’s, which means he’s not about to ditch—wait.

 

Nyma turns around to lean in toward Rolo. “Question.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Keith and Lance. Do they usually… hold hands?”

 

Rolo blinks at her and starts shaking his head. He pauses mid motion, then frowns, then looks down at his hands and knits his fingers together. His eyes narrow. “I’m… not sure.”

 

“Huh,” says Nyma.

 

She turns back around. Lance has zeroed in on the empty seats behind Nyma and he’s making a beeline. There’s a few people sitting at the end, prime real estate for a quick exit. Lance and Keith are inching past them, mumbling apologies as they go. The entire time, they don’t let go of each other, joined by tight fingers, even when it would be so much easier to move as one person as opposed to two. Then Lance is sitting down heavily  _ right _ behind them, and Nyma is wondering exactly how offended he’ll be if she scoots to the other side of the hall—but then the professor is clearing his throat from the podium. She sinks into her seat in resignation.

 

They’re barely ten minutes into the lecture when Lance can no longer bear maintaining a full lungful of air, and starts babbling. It begins slow—it always does—until there’s a constant hum of his voice like muffled music  _ right beside Nyma’s ear _ . 

 

Right. She definitely needs to address this. 

 

She twists in her seat, knocking her notes into Rolo’s arm and earning a distracted grunt, to snap a hushed warning at the boys, but what she sees throws her for a loop. 

 

They  _ still _ haven’t let go of each other, hands stacked and balanced on Keith’s knee. Lance is hunched over his half desk, scribbling on his outline and making comments about carbon nanotubules. To make up for the fact that his right hand is out of commission and apparently rubbing the knuckle of Lance’s, Keith is writing with his left, using the desk of the seat beside him. He’s leaning, ribs pressing against the armrest. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but they’re apparently making it work. 

 

Both gazes flick to Nyma when she drags her own from the tender union of their hands. “Could you stop talking?” she blurts out, far louder than intended. 

 

Lance’s nose crinkles at her. “So— _ rry _ ,” he sniffs at a much more acceptable volume.

 

Nyma opens her mouth to say something else, but she comes up empty. She shifts back around to frown at the video showing theoretical tubules stacking one on top of the other. A nudge to her elbow draws her attention over to Rolo, who cocks an eyebrow in silent question. Nyma has no clue where to begin, so she shrugs helplessly and returns to taking notes.

 

Behind her, Lance starts whispering once more to Keith.

 

* * *

 

Keith is holding up two packs of pasta noodles, different brands, different shapes. He frowns at the nutritional information printed on the back of the packaging. Rax wonders from his position behind the deli counter what the problem is that he doesn’t just take the cheap alternative. A customer comes and asks him for a hundred grams of mild genoa. When he folds up the meat and passes it over the counter, Keith has been joined by Allura and Lance. As Rax watches, they appear to slide their hands into Keith’s back pockets—or at least he  _ hopes— _ and simultaneously stoop to prop their chins on either shoulder. 

 

That isn’t the shocking part to Rax because while Lance is known to invade the personal space of  _ everyone _ , and Allura has proven rather handsy with her close friends, Keith has never appeared to be a guy comfortable with casual intimacy like that. So when Keith doesn’t react at  _ all _ , not a single brow twitching, Rax seriously considers the existence of body snatchers. 

 

Kind of curious, but mostly horrified, Rax listens as Keith lifts the packages up higher and asks his companions what the difference between pastas is.

 

“Well, Keith,” says Lance, enunciating like he’s talking to a child, “spaghetti is  _ long _ and  _ thin.  _ Rotini is _ short _ and  _ curly _ .”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” grouches Keith. “I mean why is this one more expensive?”

 

Allura hums, using her free hand to gesture at the opposing side of the package. “Maybe it’s by weight.”

 

“They’re almost exactly the same.”

 

“Made in Italy,” suggests Lance.

 

“Both are produced in…” Keith flips over the noodles to doublecheck. “Canada.”

 

“Okay, not authentic. The ingredients?”

 

“The same.”

 

“Is the nutritional—?” begins Allura.

 

“The same.”

 

“Huh.”

 

The trio stand there, silently contemplating pasta, until Lance says, “Get the spaghetti. It’s better.”

 

“No way, curlycues are the best,” protests Allura.

 

“Spaghetti is  _ classic _ .”

 

“ _ Curlies are classic. _ ”

 

“You have no evidence—”

 

“ _ You _ have no evidence—what’s so special about spaghetti?”

 

“ _ Lady and the Tramp _ , first of all.”

 

“Rotini it is,” interrupts Keith, drawing a whine out of Lance and a cheer out of Allura.

 

Despite Lance’s complaining, Keith is grinning as he puts the package of rotini into their shared cart. Allura withdraws her hand from Keith’s pocket, perching both hands on his shoulder as she leans in to nuzzle her nose against his jaw.

 

Rax slides a platter of prosciutto into the genoa. 

 

Then Allura moves on to a pouting Lance and pecks him on the cheek. 

 

Rax braces himself on the pancetta, but quickly rears back when he feels it flatten beneath his palm. He tries to multitask peeling the slices back into independence and watching the casual affection pass between the three friends. 

 

A familiar voice interrupts his struggle with concern. “Rax?”

 

He flinches and turns to look, bug-eyed, at his sister peering at him over the counter. “Oh! Hi, Shay. Sorry.”

 

“Daydreaming?” his sister asks with a smile. She looks in the general direction that Rax was and easily finds Lance braiding Allura’s hair while she and Keith compare soups. “Oh!”

 

She looks about ready to call out to them in greeting, but stops when Rax bangs his knee against the counter and yelps. 

 

“Are you okay?” she asks worriedly.

 

Rax shakes his head, turns it into a nod, forces himself to stop whipping his head in circles. “Ow. Yes. I’m fine. Shay—are they dating? Together? I mean, they’re weirdly…”

 

“Intimate? Affectionate?” offers Shay with a knowing nod. “I  _ know _ . I asked Allura earlier today if she was with Keith and she said no.”

 

“Are you sure?” Rax frowns in their direction.

 

“It came from the lady herself, so…” Shay trails off with a shrug. “I am inclined to believe her.”

 

“What if they were like—” Rax lifts his hand to wobble it oddly, “—unaware?”

 

“That only happens in stories, Rax.”

 

“Right.” They watch as Lance presses his forehead to the nape of Keith’s neck and begins to whine about being hungry. “...Right.”

 

* * *

 

“What the shit does this say?”

 

“Bread, I believe.”

 

“Who the fuck—nevermind.” Muttering, Matt slides a sleeve over the drink and places it on the counter. “Iced vanilla sweet cream cold brew for Bread,” he drones.

 

Shiro is grinning when Matt turns around. He holds his hands up defensively when Matt musters his best  _ Don’t-Even-Start-Shiro _ expression. It’s proving to be a long day and only getting longer. In the gap between customers, Matt idly wipes the cash register down, sticking a cloth into the gaps between the buttons.

 

“So I’ve been hearing some weird things today,” he begins, propping an elbow up as he moves on to the debit machine, “about Allura. Allura  _ and _ Keith, actually—and Lance.”

 

“Yeah?” says Shiro, the corner of his mouth curling up.

 

“Yeah. Like, I got a text from Pidge just saying ‘they’re not dating by the way’, which,” Matt huffs with a lofty wave of his hand, “I thought was weird without context, but it’s  _ Pidge _ , so I figured it would become relevant later.”

 

“And did it?” asks Shiro patiently.

 

“Yes! Kind of. I was at the deli earlier, talkin’ with Rax, as I do—”

 

“As you do.”

 

“—and he texts me on my break a little while ago and asks me if you know if Keith is dating Allura, or Lance, or  _ both _ .”

 

“Ah.” Shiro’s mouth twitches. “I see.”

 

“So?” Matt gives up the pretense of cleaning, draping the cloth over the debit machine. “Is he? Either? None? Both?”

 

Shiro gives him a flat stare, the effect null and void with the gentle curve of an amused smile. “You could ask them yourself,” he says, and nods towards the doors.

 

Matt is upright in an instant, swiping the rag to the ground without thinking.  _ Speak of the devil _ , he thinks as his eyes follow the entrance of Keith—looking as deceptively stoic as ever—followed by a graceful Allura and apparently itchy Lance. The latter digs his fingers into the side of his nostril, brow furrowed in concentration.

 

“I’m telling you guys,” he’s saying, “my nose itches when I think of spicy things!”

 

“You’re just imagining it,” says Allura with the air of someone who’s said it several times before.

 

“You’re hallucinating,” says Keith much more bluntly. 

 

“Last time I come to  _ you _ guys for support,” mutters Lance. The carelessness in the way Allura and Keith ignore him speaks volumes about their trust in that statement. 

 

There’s no line, so they walk right up to where Matt is poised over the cash register, half of him already in customer service mode, the other half salivating for gossip and validation. Thus far, inconclusive.

 

“Hey Matt,” greets Lance, completely forgetting his itchy nose. “What’s poppin’?”

 

“Work,” says Matt. His gaze drops down to the black bags they have slung over their shoulders. “Grocery shopping?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Allura smiles at Matt in that way that he’s pretty sure reduces Shiro to his fundamental elements—i.e. Muscle proteins and jaw structure. Incidentally, Shiro is mysteriously  _ gone _ . Matt narrows his eyes at the empty air that used to be his coworker. 

 

“Can I get a small green tea frappucino?” asks Allura, sweet as ever. Matt knows better. Matt knows she’s  _ terrifying _ . Matt was benchpressed as part of a bet. 

 

“Yes,” he says, standing ramrod straight.

 

“I’ll get a large white chocolate mocha,” chirps Lance, “with extra whipped cream  _ please and thank you _ .”

 

“Medium black hazelnut coffee for me,” says Keith.

 

Matt blinks rapidly at the screen on his register as he hastily inputs the orders. “Uh, is that altogether?”

 

“It’s on me,” says Allura at the same time Lance says, “I’ll get it.”

 

The two of them are immediately glaring at each other. Keith sighs. “I’ll—”

 

“ _ No _ ,” snap Allura and Lance simultaneously. Matt feels forgotten.

 

“You paid for the movie!”

 

“It’s our turn!”

 

“It’s  _ my _ turn,” says Allura.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” snorts Lance. “Coffee is my aesthetic, I should be paying for it.”

 

“Please start making sense,” says Allura with a tight smile. “Any day. I’m paying.”

 

“No.”

 

“No.”

 

“No.”

 

“...No?”

 

“...No…”

 

The machine beeps as Keith’s card payment is accepted. Allura and Lance whip around with twin expressions of horror.

 

“Would you like your receipt?” asks Matt.

 

“No thanks,” says Keith.

 

“What the hell?” says Lance.

 

Matt turns away to start making up their order since  _ somebody _ vanished off the face of the planet. The entire time, Lance and Allura are chastising Keith for racking up a debt while the man’s eyes glaze over. Matt finishes Lance’s drink first and barely opens his mouth to call his name when he’s already there, excitedly clapping his hands together.

 

“Ohoho,” Lance croons. “Oh  _ yes _ .”

 

He doesn’t waste his first sip on a straw—the lid comes off immediately and he’s fighting a veritable mountain of whipped cream to get to the liquid beneath. With a happy sigh, Lance’s eyes slide shut and he licks the froth off his upper lip. Keith’s gaze is intent on the cup.

 

“So good, Matt,” says Lance, “So good. Thank you, I love you.”

 

“Thanks,” says Matt, followed by, “...You’re welcome.”

 

“That much whipped cream  _ cannot _ be good for you,” says Allura as Matt finishes up her drink and hands it directly to her. 

 

“It makes my brain happy,” says Lance with a shrug, “and therefore my body follows.”

 

“No dessert for you tonight.”

 

“The great thing about being an adult is eating what I want.” Lance catches Keith staring then and gives his drink a little shake in front of him. “You wanna try?”

 

Keith looks ready to deny it, but Lance shoves the cup into his chest, forcing him to rearrange the bags in his hands to hold it. Matt watches out of the corner of his eye as Keith takes a sip, less skillfully dodging the cream. When he pulls back, it’s with a small satisfied smile and a dollop of whipped cream on the top of his nose.

 

“It’s good,” he says with a nod. Lance just laughs, Allura barely hiding her own by occupying her mouth with a straw. Keith frowns in confusion. “What?”

 

Lance motions at his nose. “You got a little—hold on, I’ll get it.” 

 

Matt has to remove his hand from the machines lest he do something stupid as Lance takes his thumb and swipes it over Keith’s nose, gathering the whipped cream. Then, with a smile, he licks the dollop off the pad of his thumb. To Matt’s amazement, Keith doesn’t seem perturbed by this at all—or even bashful. Instead, he wrinkles his nose and wipes the lingering residue off with the back of his hand.

 

A few minutes later, when the trio all have their drinks, have thanked Matt and exited the premises, Shiro returns to the counter. Matt rounds on him as his coworker crouches to pick up the discarded rag.

 

“They’re dating,” says Matt with conviction. “They’re in a polyamorous relationship and you can’t tell me otherwise.”

 

Shiro straightens, smiles, and tosses the cloth into Matt’s startled hands. “Nope. Their relationship isn’t like that.”

 

“Then  _ what is it?” _

 

“Friends,” says Shiro with a careless wave of his hand, stepping up to the till as another customer enters the shop, “Really good friends.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The sound of sizzling and the smell of garlic and butter is strong in the kitchen. When the minced garlic is on the verge of browning, Lance pours the bowl of recently cooked rotini into the pan. A plume of steam rises upon contact. As Lance leans away, Allura slinks up behind him and lands a five fingered slap on his backside.

 

“Hey!” he yelps as she cackles and spins away.

 

“That’s for this morning,” she says with mock haughtiness.

 

“What the hell do you guys get up to while I’m not looking?” sighs Keith as he takes several plates down from the cupboard. He leaves the doors open, allowing Allura to go in and grab some glasses.

 

“Public indecency,” admits Lance, “Allura started it.”

 

“I did  _ not.” _

 

“You totally did.”

 

“Okay, well, you were the one to make it a competition.”

 

“Only because he thinks he has a chance at winning if it’s you,” says Keith with a grin, gathering cutlery next. “He wouldn’t stand a chance if it was me.”

 

“I take offence to that,” says Allura, “but I also see the logic.”

 

Lance pouts at the pasta, churning it with a wooden spatula. “You say it like I’ve never won against Keith.”

 

“The scoreboard speaks for itself.” Allura points with her wine glass at the fridge. A whiteboard is stuck to it, covered in inappropriate doodles, lists in a variety of languages, and a tiny corner dedicated to a tally. “Keith is winning, by far.”

 

“...Maybe so,” concedes Lance, “but not for much longer. I’ll be picking my battles from now on.”

 

“Oh, he’s  _ learning _ ,” coos Allura, filling her glass with white wine, and moving on to pour water for Keith and orange juice for Lance.

 

“I’m  _ adapting _ ,” corrects Lance.

 

“Why does it have to be a competition with you?” asks Keith, accepting his glass from Allura.

 

“I thrive on the thrill of the hunt.”

 

“What? What does that even mean?”

 

“He’s getting into the mood for the movie,” explains Allura.

 

“Ah.”

 

“Speaking of—” The pan of pasta is divvied out onto the plates Allura provided, “—I’m frankly  _ appalled _ that neither of you have seen this movie. It’s a classic.”

 

“I feel like I’ve seen it from how often you reference it,” drawls Keith.

 

Allura tips her half empty glass towards Keith in agreement. “Exactly. Now I assume everything is from that movie. Like All Star, and Simon Cowell.”

 

“That sounds like a you problem,” says Lance as he turns off the stove and they grab their food and drinks to sit on the sofa.

 

Allura monopolizes one side of the couch, using the armrest as a table. Lance opts to sit on the floor between Keith’s legs, his head a surface for Keith’s plate while he uses the coffee table. Conversation peters off into the occasional comment as the movie runs. By half an hour in, their plates have been discarded and the couch is a mess of limbs—Keith using the armrest as a pillow, his torso in turn used as a cushion by a half curled Lance, while Allura has an arm curled around Lance’s butt, her head propped on his hip. 

 

Keith tries to shift, one foot being steadily devoured by the cushions of the couch, the other cold and lonely on the floor. The weight of Lance and Allura combined makes it impossible. Neither of them move. He tries again. Lance pushes down against him with a warning grunt.

 

“So funny thing today,” says Allura, unfazed by the shifting. “Shay thought Keith and I were dating.”

 

“Is the movie that boring to you?” grumbles Lance.

 

“Nothing’s happening.”

 

“ _ It will.”  _ Lance wiggles his butt around to be a bother, until Allura pinches him into stillness. “ _ Ow. _ Rolo thought we were dating, too.”

 

Keith, resigned to a numb leg, takes to carding his hands through Lance’s hair. “What is dating even?”

 

“Going on dates,” says Allura, “Holding hands. Eating dinner together. Cuddling.” A pause. “ _Ah,_ I see the confusion.”

 

“So we’re kind of dating,” says Keith.

 

“Huh.” Lance turns his head to look at Keith, chin digging into his ribs. “Romanceless dating, I guess.”

 

Allura tries to dig her fingers in for another pinch. “Are you saying we’re not romantic?”

 

Lance takes a moment to think about it, while writhing his hips around to avoid her searching fingers. “Shit, we kind of are.”

 

“So we’re dating,” says Keith slowly, using the opportunity to hook his foot up over the back of the couch, “but not actually.”

 

“I guess?”

 

“It’s friendship dating,” clarifies Allura, beaming victoriously when she gets a yelp out of Lance. 

 

“I think I want out of this relationship,” whines Lance, burrowing his face into Keith’s chest.

 

Allura sniffs. “See how long you last without these snuggles.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“This is as close to dating as my aromantic ass is ever going to get,” drawls Keith. “I’ll take it.”

 

“Babe.” 

 

“I realize now,” says Allura, “I’m going to have to explain to my future partner that they’ll essentially be dating three people. Yikes.”

 

“I hope they like cuddle piles,” mumbles Lance, muffled by Keith’s shirt. 

 

“Oh, they better.”

 

“Don’t make it weird,” sighs Keith. 

 

“You’re my favourite people,” pouts Allura. “If I’m going to have something more than a booty call, they’re going to have to love you guys too.”

 

All three are quiet for a moment. Onscreen, the shunned movie chugs along.

 

“Oh no, that was sweet,” whispers Lance. 

 

Keith ruffles Lance’s hair. “Snuggle inversion.”

 

“Wait, no—” balks Allura as the two young men beneath her surge upwards, pinning her in a reversal of their previous positions. “Ow! Lance, your chin is  _ pointy _ . That’s my appendix!”

 

Keith laughs as Lance wriggles beneath him into a more comfortable position. “Better?”

 

“Barely,” mumbles Allura, settling into her new role as pillow with faux resignation. 

 

“Cool, now  _ pay attention this is the best part—” _

 

“Every part is the best part to you, Lance.”

 

“Watch it, damn it!”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So I have no idea how to end a fic ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> this sprouted from a discussion of about queerplatonic relationships on the klance discord :3c obviously not all qpr are the same and this isn't like, a guide to follow idk why anyone would consider this a guide to anything but yeah no doubt the next day, instead of asking if they're dating, everyone's going to be clarifying whether they're in a qpr or not because **i have decided that is how it goes**
> 
> so obviously _i have no impulse control fam_
> 
> ANYWAY besides pan allura, aroace keith and demibi lance if you wanted me to be more specific about that, not that it really matters BUT YAKNOW.


End file.
